Child of God

Outlet for an amazing journey.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Here

So we’ve come this far
Here we stand
Here we are

But
Where do we go from Here
What have we learned from Here
Did we grow to Here
Or did we just come to be Here

We know we need more than Here
Because we’ve been shown that we are not There

One Ghetto Metaphor

Wastelands, cavities.
Peppered too coarsely , too densely.
Neglected, ignored like they’ll just go away.
Hidden and forgotten about on behalf of the minority.
And they fester, like an untreated wound.
Pockets of pain and desolation, left to war from within
So that they will not spill over into the precious pockets of pleasure.
Left to compete; to self-thin.
Only given enough help, so it doesn’t feel like a sin.

Conversation with a Tombstone

It’s the first time
Since the first time, nine years ago

So many regrets, so many regrets
So many things I wish could be different

Biting my quaking lip
Despite so much to say
But I stay speechless, as the first time

It was here that I lost the privelage
Of taking my mother for-granted
It was here that my memory became unwanted

Still. So much to say:
I miss you
I hope you’re proud
I wish you could meet her
We’re having a child

My gut churns
My teeth grind
And I can’t stop begging the question
“Why Why Why”

Finding it hard to leave, (as hard as it is to stay)
As if this is one last time with her
So I can finally tell her goodbye

It’s hard to bear
That my words, she can’t really hear
Because I’m not speaking to hear my own voice
But so I might remember what hers’ sounded like

What I learned from a conversation with a tomb stone

There is a part of me that never left this plot
I came back to find it, the other part of me
But all I found was a headstone where we layed my mother,
layed her to be

“You were only fourteen”, everyone tells me
“You have no reason, to continue your self-hatred”
But I know others, younger, who lost their mothers
Who didn’t turn out this way

But I learned the other part of me is her
And only deep inside myself, will she let me find her
For that is where she rests, not beneath this earth and grass.